Confessions of a Marvellous Mind
by Penny-in-the-sky
Summary: A raging war, a puzzled heart and a family that loves to meddle. During the summer after her fourth year, Ginny Weasley vents her thoughts, feelings and frustrations in a diary.
1. 7 July: My mind isn’t dangerous!

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Confessions of a Marvellous Mind

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Author's Note: I have two main reasons for writing this story: 1. I've always wanted to try writing a diary fic, seeing as I've read quite a few good ones, and it seems like fun. 2. After having read OotP, Ginny is my new favourite character, and I wanted to write something Ginny-centered. That said, I hope there's someone who will find this interesting and worth reading, and I sincerely hope I'll be able to make it interesting. Oh, one more thing: I'm a H/G-shipper. Just so you know.

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Disclaimer: The wonderful world of Harry Potter belongs to JK Rowling.

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7 July 

I really can't believe I'm doing this. And I have no idea why I _am _doing it. I truly didn't think I would ever so much as _touch_ a diary again after… well, you know. And here I am writing in one. I don't believe it.

Oh, I just realised something. Maybe I should check to see that there isn't anyone _in _here, you know, in the book. I know it's a crazy thing to do, really, but considering my previous diary-related experiences, I don't think I'm being over-precautionary.

So… hello?

Anyone in here?

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Hello?

Whew. No answer. Seems safe enough.

Dad gave me this diary the other day. Apparently he'd confiscated it from some witch who was planning on giving it to her Muggle niece. There's some sort of spell on it that ensures that the writer is the only one who can read it. I can't really see how it would've been wrong for the witch to actually give it to her niece, but evidently there's some policy that classifies it as inappropriate. Anyway, I'm thankful for the spell. It would be near suicidal to keep a non-magical diary in this house, now that Fred and George are around again.

Fred and George. I swear, sometimes I just want to kill them. Their newly opened joke-shop is closed a few weeks for the summer, so they've come home to – as they put it – spend some quality time with their family and friends. I just think they've come home with the sole purpose of torturing me. But I'm getting them back as good as I can. Not a day goes by without them arriving at dinner, reeking of Dungbombs. Hehe.

Percy's back too, which is a bit awkward, to tell the truth. I mean, it's great to have him back, and he's apologised for his behaviour and all (well, in his own, haughty way), but I haven't really talked to him for over a year, and to suddenly have him here is a bit overwhelming. I do think I've forgiven him, though. More or less. Mum's in a state of sheer bliss, of course, and just soars around the house oozing happiness over the fact that her family's complete again. Dad, on the other hand, isn't quite as pleased. Things between him and Percy have been… _frosty, _to say the least, and it's awful to watch. At least the rest of us are _trying _to get things back to normal. 

To be honest, I don't really blame Dad, though. Percy was such a prat for so long. And he treated Mum and Dad like dirt. It's hard to just forget that.

What's great is that _both_ Bill and Charlie are home for the summer, and that just makes everything so much easier. A couple of times when Fred and George have been off to check up on the shop, and Percy's been cooped up in his old room, being boring, me and Bill and Charlie have played Quidditch and they've helped me practice playing Chaser, seeing as I'm planning on trying out for that position once school starts again. Ron's joined us sometimes, in order to brush up on his Keeper skills (I'm trying not to be mean and make any jokes about it, 'cause he's working really hard, and I do reckon he's pretty good, as long as he concentrates).

About Ron… It's hilarious really, 'cause he's been writing loads of letters, at least one a day, and he _claims _they're not all for Hermione, but I'm not so sure… I mean, he fancies her like mad. It's so obvious. And I'm _positive _something happened between the two of them last year, what with all their prefect duties and all that. Hehe. Just as with his Keeper skills, I'm trying not to give him a hard time about this. 'Cause as great fun as it is torturing Ron, I have to think about Hermione as well. And she's my friend. And you don't tease friends. Unless it's in a friendly manner, of course… 

Maybe I'll tease her in a friendly manner in my next letter.

Great. Fred just popped his head in here, saw me writing, and snickered before disappearing again. Maybe he's too daft to realise what I'm doing, but unfortunately I don't think so. He may've been hopeless in school, but when it comes to potential taunting-subjects, he's a genius.

The house is really bustling. As if it weren't enough that our _entire _family is gathered for once, we're also housing a number of guests, namely Lupin, Moody and Kingsley Shacklebolt. I'm not really sure why they're here, but I'm guessing it's Order business. There've been many late night meetings, all of which I've been completely banned from, which just _stinks, _'cause now even Fred and George are allowed to attend the meetings. And, obviously, they're being absolute gits about it. Now it's just Ron and me who aren't allowed to take part in the meetings. If possible, he's even angrier than I am about it. His cursing quota has hit the roof lately.

Well, would you look at that. I've rambled on for six pages. Ow, my hand hurts. And oh, Mum's calling – seems like dinner's ready. Excellent. I'm starving.

* * *

I _hate _Fred. I really do. Today, at dinner, he told everyone about how he'd seen me write in my diary, and finished with "It would be real interesting to read it and find out what goes on in that dangerous mind of yours." I just glared at him as murderously as I could, but I don't think it had much effect, seeing as I was blushing furiously at the same time. I mean, honestly, my diary is _private_, and it's meant to be a _secret_, and he just went and told everyone about it.

There was this really awkward silence as everyone looked from my red face to Fred's smirking one, and I was just about ready to hit him full in the face when Remus came to my defence, saying "Oh, I wouldn't call Ginny's mind dangerous. I'd say it's rather marvellous."

And everything went back to normal. I love Lupin. He's the best, always so nice and helpful. And there you go, Fred, my mind isn't dangerous. It's _marvellous. _So there.

Dad said something interesting. He mentioned that we'll be getting _another _guest as early as tomorrow, but he didn't say who it was. And I don't know, but I just got this feeling that it might be Harry. And Ron thought the same thing, I could tell by the way his eyes sort of lit up. Obviously, I have no idea if it really _is _Harry, but it would be great if it was. I hate to think of him trapped there with those awful relatives of his, especially after everything he's been through. He's got no one to talk to.

Although it's not like there's anyone to talk to here, either. No one really mentions Sirius, which I think is terrible. I mean, I understand that it's hard for everyone to deal with, and it's painful and all, but I _really _feel like I need to talk about it. And it feels sort of like an insult to Sirius's memory that no one even brings him up.

But I don't know. Maybe it'll come.

Oh, I think Kingsley's telling Auror-stories downstairs. I'm gonna go listen. And maybe hit Fred or George (or both, ideally) with a Dungbomb before bedtime. Bye for now!

~*~

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A/N: So, what do you think? I'm aware of the fact that this chapter wasn't very long, but it's main purpose is to work as an introduction. And I didn't want to be over-explanatory and rant on for pages and pages about things that aren't really that interesting. In this story, each chapter is going to consist of diary entries for one day, and needless to say, some days are going to be more event-filled than others. So, certain chapters will be long, others will be short. One more thing: a friend of mine has borrowed my copy of OotP, and I don't have access to it, so if you spot anything in here that doesn't agree with canon, please let me know and I'll fix it.


	2. 8 July: More of a conversationalist

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A/N: I'm so proud of myself, I've got part two up already! Although, it was half finished when I posted the first chapter, and it's not very long… But still, two chapters posted just a day apart! Yay!

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8 July

Guess what?

I just got a letter from Dean. I can't believe it. My heart's hammering like crazy.

I'm just gonna copy it down in here and then over-analyse it, seeing as I'm in a pathetic mood right now.

"Dear Ginny,

How are you? Me, I'm great. I've just got back from a football game, West Ham versus Arsenal, and it was fantastic (even if Arsenal ended up winning. I'm trying to be good about it). I know you're not much of a football fan (considering the fact that you hardly even know what it is) but it was just so great that I had to write and tell you about it. And next week I'm going to see Newcastle play Manchester United. I'm really looking forward to that. I mean, neither of them are any of my favourite teams, but they've both got really excellent players, so I reckon it's going to be great.

I hope everything's good with you. Tell Ron hi from me, will you?

Bye,

Dean

P.S. Have you had any word from Harry? I've heard about those relatives of his, they don't sound like too much fun. Say hi to him as well, if you hear from him."

There. That's it.

I don't know what to make of it. I mean, it's not really a big deal, I guess. He just talks about football and says that he hopes I'm okay. But still…

He _wrote _to me. He wrote a letter to me. I didn't think… I mean, we _did _talk quite a lot last term, what with the DA meetings and all, and we got pretty close, but I didn't really think he would make much of it. I certainly didn't think he would go and write a letter to me, just for the sake of keeping in touch. And that comment I made on the train ride home, the one about "choosing Dean Thomas" or whatever it was I said, I didn't really _mean _that. I was just trying to get Ron worked up.

I don't really know how I feel about this. As I've said, it was hardly a love-letter (unless there are some sort of Muggle-romantics associated with football, which I highly doubt), but it was a letter, from a boy, addressed to me. And that's… well, it's sort of exciting.

Thank goodness Fred and George weren't around when I received it. I wouldn't have heard the end of it. Ron was at the table with me, but he was too wrapped up in the letter he was writing to notice. I couldn't help but say "Tell Hermionehi from me, won't you?" and it was really funny, because his head snapped up and his ears turned red and he said, "I'm not writing to Hermione." Which is obviously a big fat lie, because we're not allowed to write to Harry (owl-interception and all that) and who else would he be writing to?

Oh, I just realised something. Now I'm going to have to write _back _to Dean. What on earth am I supposed to write about? I can't write about football, seeing as I don't have any idea what it is. I guess I could write about Quidditch. But maybe that would seem too, I don't know… guy-like. Not that I want to write a girly letter or anything, but I don't want to write a Cheers-mate-slap-on-the-back-how-about-them-Cannons kind of letter either. Argh, I hate these things. Michael never wrote me letters, which was a great relief. I think I'm more of a conversationalist than a correspondent. If there's even such a word as 'conversationalist'. Oh, you get the idea.

Oooh, lunchtime! Excellent. I'm famished.

* * *

Kingsley is so cool. After lunch, when Mum was clearing the table and out of earshot, he showed me, Ron and Charlie his tattoos. Yeah, he's got _tattoos. _As in not just one. His skin's so dark you can hardly see them, but they're actually really beautiful and quite artistic. One's on his upper arm – a picture of a dragon, really majestic-looking. Another's on his shoulder blade – a set of runes, but he wouldn't tell us what they meant. I guess it's something personal.

The coolest one was a picture of an ancient-looking torch, on his ankle. He got it when he joined some sort of secret society during a trip to Africa. Evidently, getting the tattoo hurt like hell (his words, not mine), but he didn't mind, because being invited to join that particular society was a huge honour.

Unsurprisingly, Kingsley and Charlie have really bonded. They've spent hours discussing dragons and beasts and foreign lands together, and after seeing that dragon tattoo, Charlie mentioned that he'd like to get one himself. Unfortunately for him, that was the precise moment that Mum came into earshot again. She scolded him as if he were a four-year-old, and he blushed like a schoolgirl. It was quite funny.

The new guest is coming any minute now. Mum's been driving herself (and everyone else) mad trying to find a place for him (or her, for all I know) to sleep. Ron must be really sure it's Harry, because he suggested that they could put up a spare bed in his room. But Mum didn't agree, and the guest, whoever it is, will be residing in the living room, along with Lupin, Kingsley and Moody.

Speaking of Moody, he's really acting strange. I mean, stranger than usual. He walks around the house, muttering and cursing under his breath. My guess is that he's not all too pleased about the arrival of this new guest.

Oh, arrive already! I'm curious enough to die. I can't see why they won't just tell us, but I guess they don't want to risk anything. It's driving me crazy, really, this constant paranoia.

What was that? I'm _positive _I heard a cracking noise. Let me just…

Yeah. Someone just Apparated into our kitchen. A man. He's talking now. Mum and Dad are welcoming him. I don't recognise the voice.

Oh, I have to go downstairs and have a look. Hang on.

* * *

Wow. That's all I have to say. _Wow_.

I don't really know how to put this, but… standing in our kitchen, at this very moment, talking to my Mum and Dad, is the most attractive man I have ever seen in my life. Honestly.

I'm not going to gush. I am _not_ going to gush. Gushing is for girls.

Oh, who cares? I _am _a girl.

I swear, my heart almost stopped when I entered the kitchen. I was prepared to see some old, creepy Moody-look-a-like, so imagine my surprise when I instead saw a tall, muscular and utterly handsome man who can't be any older than Charlie. I just stood and stared, and I must've looked really stupid. Then Dad said, "Ginny, love, meet Mr Gustavsson. Mr Gustavsson, this is my daughter, Ginny." And the man reached out his hand, grinned at me (I've never seen a set of teeth so white before), and said, with a bit of an accent, "Nice to meet you, Ginny." And being the complete idiot that I am, I could do nothing but take his hand, smile stupidly and say "Yeah, you too," before taking off and running up here again.

My heart's beating like crazy. I am _so _mortified. Why do I always act like this? But I was so shocked, so thoroughly unprepared for that complete _vision _of a man. Blech. I sound like Mum, ranting on about Lockhart. Although, Lockhart's got nothing on this one, I'm telling you.

He must be a foreigner. I mean, Gustavsson, that's hardly British, is it? And he spoke with an accent.

Oh, this won't do. I have to go down there again and introduce myself properly. Prove that I'm not a silly little girl.

Wish me luck.

* * *

Honestly, every now and then you meet someone who's so thoroughly interesting and respect-inducing that you just want to sit by them and listen to them talk for ages.

I've just got back from dinner, and I'm going to go down as soon as possible again, because Mr Gustavsson's telling stories about his Auror training and I want to listen.

Guess what? He's from _Sweden. _I knew he was foreign. Apparently he's some old friend of Kingsley's, and he's agreed to help the Order out for a couple of months, seeing as the ongoing war isn't just Britain's concern. If Voldemort gains power, it'll affect the whole wizarding world. So Mr Gustavsson's one of many foreign wizards (and witches) that've come to Britain to help out.

I can see why he and Kingsley are friends, they're really alike. And yes, Mr Gustavsson's got tattoos as well. No earring, though. But his hair's sort of longish, although not as long as Bill's. He doesn't look the least bit Scandinavian. I thought pretty much everyone there was blond, blue-eyed and fair-skinned, but he's got dark hair, and eyes so deep a shade of brown they're almost black. And he's really tanned, but apparently that's due to the fact that he's been in Turkey for a couple of months, working as a negotiator or something.

Thankfully, I got past the whole Oh-my-goodness-he's-too-handsome-for-words-phase pretty quickly, and I managed to talk to him. And apart from the fact that he's utterly cool, he's also completely hilarious. He had everyone in stitches during dinner, retelling stories about Turkish Ministry officials that refused to grant him entry into Ministry buildings, as they thought he looked dodgy. He impersonated them, with accents and all, and it was just too, too funny. Even Moody looked a bit amused, but that was probably just because he recognised the situation from personal experience. He's still acting strangely, even more so since Mr Gustavsson's arrived. I think there's something there that the rest of us don't know about.

Even though I'm happy that somebody young and decent has come to stay with us, as opposed to someone old and grumpy, I can't help but feel a bit disappointed that it wasn't Harry. It means he's still stuck in that horrible place with those horrible people, and I _hate _the thought of that. I can tell that Ron's disappointed too. But he still seems pretty impressed with Mr Gustavsson.

Oh, they're laughing downstairs. I have to go down there and listen.

* * *

I'm beat. Knackered. Just about ready to pass out.

It's past midnight, and I've just come up from the living room, where everyone's been sitting the past few hours. I've played four games of exploding snap with Charlie, and after that I watched a chess game between Ron and Einar (that's Mr Gustavsson's first name – rather odd, isn't it?). Einar gave Ron quite a run for his money – he seems really clever – but Ron ended up winning, and I couldn't help but feel immensely proud of him. I mean, he's my brother, and he's only a year older than me, and he beat an _Auror _at chess. That's pretty cool.

Before I came up here, I talked to Dad in the kitchen. I asked him about Harry, if they know how he's doing or when he'll be allowed to join us. Dad just looked at me a bit sadly and said, "I can't talk to you about Harry, you know that." And my face must've fallen quite a bit, because he added, in a low voice, "We're working on it." Then Moody entered the room and I couldn't ask Dad what he meant exactly. I mean, _working _on it? What kind of work is there to do? 

But I must say I'm feeling rather hopeful. If they're working on it, then that could mean Harry will be with us quite soon. I really hope that's the case. I want to see him, make sure he's okay.

Wow, I am _so tired. _And Mum will probably have us up at dawn tomorrow, she mentioned something about a thorough cleaning of the house. I shudder at the mere thought of it. Anyway, I better get some sleep now.

Goodnight.

~*~

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A/N (random): I couldn't help but bring a Swede into this fic. There's just not enough Sweden on ff.net, in my opinion. I'm feeling a bit lonely! 

Arsenal rocks.

I saw "Pirates of the Caribbean" a few days ago, and I'm still on a Johnny-Depp-Orlando-Bloom high. They are just the epitomes of "beautiful". And they're the reason Einar looks the way he does.


	3. 9 July: I don’t really mind the mess

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A/N: Yep, it's part three. I'm on a roll. 

Thanks to the reviewers – there haven't been a lot of you, but you're highly appreciated nonetheless!

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9 July

Ugh. I'm all groggy, and barely awake, but I simply had to write this down. It's six in the morning and I just woke up from one of the strangest dreams I've had in months.

I was in the kitchen of Grimmauld Place, and Hermione was there too. We were eating cake, but it tasted like paper and I said I didn't want my piece. Hermione looked really offended and said, "Honestly Ginny, we made it for _you._" And then Ron came in, wearing a ridiculous, chequered jacket with matching pants. "What do you think?" he asked, grinning widely, and I started laughing, because he looked so utterly stupid. Ron just gaped. "You're so _mean, _Ginny," he said, in a voice that wasn't his at all. In fact, it sounded a lot like Mum's voice. Then all of a sudden we were all in our garden, and Ron was picking flowers, gushing over how beautiful they were. Hermione raised her eyebrows and said, "Looks like it's going to rain." And at that precise moment it _did _start to rain, only it rained Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans instead of water. Naturally, Ron was ecstatic. He picked up a bucket and ran around trying to catch as much of the downpour as possible. Suddenly he crashed into none other than Snape, and he looked horror-struck for a moment, but then Snape patted him on the head and said, "Oh, Weasley, you've always been such a healthy, fun-loving boy." And he _laughed. _Snape _laughed_ – heartily, nonetheless. And as if that weren't enough, he then conjured a table full of delicious food, and invited us to sit down with him. "Cake!" Hermione exclaimed gleefully and rushed over to help herself. I sat down as well, and started eating. But then somebody took my hand and squeezed it gently, and I turned my head to find that Harry had sat down next to me. I have no idea where he came from, but he smiled and said, "Looks good, doesn't it?" before helping himself to some ice cream. Although he didn't let go of my hand, he just held it, and it felt warm and soft and…

And yeah, that was about it.

I feel… strange. I haven't dreamt something this odd in ages. I haven't dreamt about _Harry _in ages. And now my stomach's all warm because I can still remember what it felt like, holding his hand. 

I don't know, I guess I'm just worried about him or something.

I should really get some more sleep. Mum'll be in here in a few hours to wake me up, so that we can begin cleaning the house. Great. I've got a wonderful day ahead of me.

* * *

Oh, honestly. What's the point in cleaning when you know it's going to get messy again? Mum says that once I get older and live on my own, I'll understand 'the necessity of keeping ones surroundings nice and tidy', but I'm not so sure. I don't really mind the mess. Especially not if keeping your surroundings nice and tidy means spending no less than _four hours _cleaning every little nook and corner of the house. Honestly, who _cares _if we sweep the attic or not? No one's ever there except for the ghoul, and I hardly think he appreciates the fact that we keep it dust-free.

I don't see why we can't just use magic to clean out the house. I mean, we've done that loads of times before. But Mum reckons it's important to exercise our non-magical skills every now and then, and not become too dependent on magic. Oh, please. I think it should be the other way around – we ought to practice our _magic _skills as much as possible, so that they don't get rusty. I pity all Muggles – they _always_ have to clean without magic. What a nightmare.

As you might've noticed, I'm in a bit of a bad mood right now. The whole day has been spent cleaning, and to me it just feels like a total waste. I mean, these are the summer _holidays. _As in time supposed to be spent doing absolutely nothing of use.

It hasn't been all bad, though. Fred and George have had a good day and been fun as opposed to annoying, which has been a great relief. Bill and Charlie have kept us entertained with sweeping songs, which they've composed as we've gone along, and Einar's suggested that we ought to celebrate with a Dungbomb fight in the garden once we're finished. Seems like a great idea to me.

Anyway, we're pretty much finished now, and Mum and Dad have started making dinner, so I better go down there and help.

* * *

Blech. I smell _so bad._

I've just got back from the aforementioned, celebratory Dungbomb fight, and I am in serious needof a bath – I can hardly stand being in the same room as myself.

The good thing is that I'm not the only one who smells like they've rolled in a pile of manure. In fact, I think I escaped rather unscathed, considering how heavily attacked some of the others were. There were two teams: one was Ron, Charlie, Einar, and me, while Bill, Fred and George were on the other one. Kingsley didn't want to participate (he's not so much like Einar as I thought – he's a lot more mellow), and neither did Lupin, or Moody (not that I thought he would've wanted to). And obviously, Mum, Dad and Percy turned down the offer as well.

Hang on a minute.

There.

Sorry, I just had to stop and laugh for a while at the mental image of my mother participating in a Dungbomb fight. 

Anyway, when the fight was over, my team stood as winners. Granted, there was one member more on our team, but we'd agreed on that before we started, seeing as Fred and George can almost be counted as two team-members each, considering their previous experience with Dungbomb fights. So we won fair and square.

Even if I had a terrific time, and even though all the boys are really nice to me, I can't help but miss the presence of another girl, someone my age. Sometimes it just feels like there are too many _guys _in this house (I mean, Mum and I are outnumbered nearly two to _twelve_). I do hope Hermione comes to stay with us soon. It's really frustrating, 'cause I'm not even allowed to write to her. Mum and Dad told me as much just before dinner. Apparently it had come to their knowledge that _somebody_ has been writing far too many letters to Hermione, and they don't want to risk anything, seeing as she's, well… Muggle-born, and all. So they figured this was all for the best. I couldn't help but give Ron, who hadn't heard this yet, a hard punch on the shoulder as I passed him. The surprised and highly offended look on his face would've been funny if I wasn't so angry with him. I mean, honestly, _why _did he have to write so many letters to Hermione? He must've been absolutely furious when he found out he can't write to her anymore. Well, serves him right.

Oh, before I forget, Dad mentioned at dinner that we'll probably be meeting up with the rest of the Order quite soon, which is interesting, because I've been wondering where everyone else is, and why it's just Lupin, Kingsley and Moody that're here. I wonder if this means we'll be going back to Grimmauld Place soon. I hope not, I really hate that place. And going there now that Sirius… oh, that would be just awful.

I _hate _being kept in the dark like this. Now that Fred and George are allowed to attend the meetings, I don't even have access to any Extendable Ears. They claim they've stopped manufacturing them. I reckon they're just being petty.

Damn. I just remembered I have to write back to Dean. Tomorrow, preferably. Or else he'll think I just can't be bothered.

Wow, I really have to go take a bath. The stench is getting unbearable.

~*~

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A/N: I know the chapters are sort of short so far, but they'll be getting longer, I promise you. Please review and let me know what you think!


	4. 10 July: More than a little shocked

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A/N: The roll I mentioned being on in part three is officially over. The updates will most likely be less frequent in the future.

Thanks to everyone who's reviewing!

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10 July

Okay.

I've just sent a letter to Dean. I rewrote it approximately fifteen times, but in the end I got so sick and tired of it all that I just sent away a letter without even reading it through. So I'm not really sure what I wrote. I'm hoping it was something moderately sane.

Unfortunately, Mum's opportunity-to-embarrass-your-kids radar was on, and she managed to read parts of the letter over my shoulder, which caused her to exclaim, "Oh my goodness, Ginny, are you writing to a _boy?_". I can't remember the last time I was so mortified. And of course Fred and George chose that precise moment to enter the room. Their obnoxious chants of "Ginny and Dean, sitting in a tree…" caused me to flee up here to my room, where I've spent the last half hour hiding from my insufferable kin.

I can't see why Mum was so shocked. I mean, she knows I've gone out with Michael, so catching me writing to a boy shouldn't be such a dreadful surprise. Then again, maybe she reckons I'm writing to another boy too soon after breaking up with Michael. She adored him, kept saying I should hold on to him and make sure he knew how I felt. Honestly, how could I do that when I didn't even know how I felt myself? It wasn't like he was the love of my life, I'm pretty sure of that. He was just fun to be around. Just like Dean's fun to be around. Why does everyone have to make such a big deal out of things?

I can't go downstairs for another hour or two. I still hear Fred and George laughing at regular intervals, so I'm pretty sure they haven't dropped the matter quite yet. Besides, I'll bet Mum thinks I'm a "scarlet woman", as she'd put it. She probably wants to have a Talk with me, something about the importance of young ladies remaining respectable no matter how great the temptation is. Ugh, the horror! She's been looking for a reason to have a talk like that with me for ages, and I've just given her the perfect opening.

Great. I just heard Fred and George laugh again, followed by two other male voices saying something, which resulted in even more laughter. I'll bet they've told _everyone._

I swear, sometimes I loathe my whole family.

* * *

Hermione's here!

Yes, really!

Wow, I can't believe it. It was all so sudden – I was sitting up in my room, still thoroughly mortified, when I heard excited voices from downstairs. I suspected it was Fred and George marvelling at some new, dumb magic prank of theirs, so I decided to ignore it, but after a few minutes I heard Mum call, rather excitedly, "Ginny, get _down _here!" Discarding all suspicions that this was just a trick to get me to come downstairs so they could all laugh some more at me, I left my room and slowly walked down the stairs. And when I was on the bottom step, I found myself standing face to face with Hermione, who'd just come out of the kitchen.

I could do nothing but stare, with my mouth hanging open. I had so thoroughly _not _expected it, and I was more than a little shocked. I mean, why on earth would Hermione arrive without any notice?

But my state of utter perplexity only lasted for a couple of seconds, because then Hermione grinned widely, said "Hello, Ginny!" and threw her arms around me, hugging me tightly. And after that I could do little but be perfectly thrilled to have her there. Because, as I wrote yesterday, it's been too long since I've last been around any girls my age.

Ron's reaction to her arrival was kind of amusing. He entered the room just as Hermione was telling me about her trip here (which I will write about in a minute), and he stopped dead in his tracks when he spotted her. She said, "Hello, Ron!", and he just gaped, and his ears turned a violent shade of red, but then finally he managed to clear his throat and greet her properly. He did pretty well after that. Gave her a hug, even. And it wasn't a guyish half-hug, you know, one of those pat-on-the-back kind of things – no, it was a proper, two-arm, full body contact hug, and that just amazed me. I swear, there's something fishy going on between those two. Good-fishy, maybe, but fishy nonetheless.

Anyway, about Hermione's trip – apparently she's been in contact with Mum and Dad the past few weeks, although they haven't told us this, and they've been gradually planning how to bring her here. In the end they decided that Kingsley should Apparate to her house, help her get organised, and then they'd take the Knight Bus to Ottery St Catchpole.

I'm a bit miffed that Mum and Dad never told us they were making plans to bring Hermione here. That knowledge would've made the past few weeks of belonging to an outnumbered gender a lot more bearable. But I won't nurse resentment. She's here now, and that's all that matters.

I just came up here to write a quick "Hermione's here!"-note, and ended up writing almost three pages. Time to stop.

Bye for now.

* * *

Dinner was absolutely _wonder_ful! And it was a lot thanks to Hermione. I mean, the percentage rise of females in the house isn't exactly mind-blowing, but it just felt so _good _having her there to talk to. Quite surprisingly, I also found that I'd really missed hearing her and Ron bicker about pointless things.

After we'd eaten, everyone helped with the washing up, and then we sat in the living room for a while. Everyone wanted to hear what Hermione had been up to, but she said she hadn't done very much, mainly just spent time with her parents and enjoyed the lovely weather. Then Dad – who's had time off from work and apparently hasn't been within close proximity of a Muggle in weeks – started bombarding her with questions about the situation in the Muggle community, and demanded to know everything about the latest, scientific discoveries. Thankfully, Ron saved her after about ten minutes and asked her if she wanted to play chess, and she looked extremely relieved. Or maybe she was just happy about the fact that she and Ron could get some time to themselves… They sat in a corner with their chessboard, so engaged in quiet conversation that they were hardly moving the pieces. Hehe.

Me, Fred and George sat on the sofa as the elder residents of the house (namely Mum, Dad, Remus, Moody and Percy (who, at nineteen, is physically young but has the mind of a fifty-year-old)) took a short walk, and the semi-elder ones (Bill, Charlie, Kingsley and Einar) sat in the kitchen, having an after-dinner-drink (which seemed to be highly entertaining, if you were to judge by the laughter that erupted from the kitchen every now and then). Fred and George were in a pleasant mood, and had – thank goodness – given up on taunting me about Dean. George was leafing through a book, which had been given to him by a customer of their shop. Apparently it was a combined wizard-slang-dictionary and a directory of the meaning of first names (interesting combination, I know). So we proceeded with looking up the names of everyone in the house.

Some of the meanings were really funny. Fred's name means "peace" (he clasped his hands together and adopted a saint-like expression when he heard this), George's means "farmer" (upon reading this he claimed that he'd always considered an agricultural career), Remus's name means "speedy", while Mum's means "the perfect one" (something which we decided on _not _telling her, regarding the possibilities of obnoxious remarks from her if she were to find out).

The only name we couldn't find was Einar's, so when he popped his head in to see what we were doing, we asked him what it's meaning was. He appeared to think for a moment, then he grinned widely and said, "It means big, fat Dungbomb!" before he disappeared again. I thought it was hilarious, but I heard Hermione mutter, "Honestly!". Maybe she wasn't as wrapped up in her conversation with Ron as I'd first thought…

Something that _wasn't _funny was when Fred and George discovered that my name – Virginia – means, unsurprisingly, "virgin". I could've done without their infuriating snickering. In the words of a dear friend of mine – _honestly._

* * *

I'm in the bathroom, which may seem like a strange location to choose for writing, but I can't write in my room, since Hermione's in there, asleep, and I don't want to risk waking her up. 

I spoke with her a few minutes ago. It was nice to finally have a serious talk with someone, even if the subject matters weren't exactly joyful.

She said she's really scared. I understand her. I mean, obviously, I can't possibly understand what this war is like for her, seeing as I'm not Muggle-born, but I know the fear that _I'm _feeling, and I'm assuming it's nothing compared to hers. Apparently, she hasn't told her parents about the war. She doesn't want to worry them. But the fact that she hasn't told them causes _her _to worry constantly, seeing as she knows they won't be prepared if anything should happen.

I asked her why the Order decided on bringing her here, and she answered that they'd thought it would be easier to keep her safe here than when she was surrounded by Muggles. Which means that the Order considers there to be a threat to her safety… A scary thought.

Although, evidently, mine and Ron's nagging had had some influence on the Order's decision as well.

I tried to refrain as long as possible from it, but in the end I couldn't stop myself from asking her about Harry. And guess what? She's been in contact with him! Apparently they've been sending letters almost every day to one another via the Muggle Postal System, or whatever it's called. I was so relieved when she told me he's okay. Well, _physically _okay, anyway. Hermione said that when she'd written something about Sirius, he hadn't answered for several days, and when he _had _answered, it'd been in an almost curt manner, so she hadn't mentioned Sirius again.

Oh, I wish we could just get to see him!

It was good to hear that he's alright, though. And I trust the Order to keep an eye on him. But if I won't get to meet him in person before school starts, then… well… I don't know. It wouldn't be good.

I'm gonna go back to bed now. I'm really tired.

Goodnight.

~*~

**__**

A/N: The meanings of the different names may not be entirely correct, seeing as every "name directory" or whatever you call it seems to state different meanings of the same names. But I went with these. Hope you don't mind.

Also, I'm a bit unsure about Percy's age, but I counted on it a bit and decided that nineteen seemed right enough. 


	5. 11 July: Things can change so fast

**_A/N: _**_Here's a (slightly) lengthier chapter._

**_Disclaimer: _**_I think I have to add something to the disclaimer, namely this: Eilonwy, Princess wrote a review commending me for the title of this story, and I felt a bit ashamed, seeing as I can't really take any credit for it. The title is inspired by the book/film title "Confessions of a dangerous mind", courtesy of Chuck Barris (I think). Maybe that should've gone in the disclaimer. Thanks anyway, Eilonwy, I'm glad you appreciate it!_

~*~

**11 July**

I'm beginning to think that Ron's right – Hermione really _is _insane. It's seven o'clock in the morning and she just woke me up to ask me if I wanted to come jogging with her, which is apparently a Muggle term meaning "running for fun". 

I don't believe it. Why would anyone run for fun? And at _seven _in the _morning?_ Honestly.

Needless to say, I turned down the offer. Rather forcefully, at that. Hermione didn't seem put down, though. She said, "That's okay, I'll just go on my own." And then she smiled at me and – thank goodness – left the room. I'm sorry, but people that wake other people up at seven to smile and act all cheery and proclaim that they're going to run for _fun_ ought to be arrested.

Mum's right. I am _not _a morning person.

*  * *

I've just got back from breakfast, and I'm feeling less testy now that I've cranked up my blood sugar level a bit. I've also apologised to Hermione for being a complete veela when she woke me up, but she said it was alright. Apparently she'd "thoroughly enjoyed her refreshing jog", so there were no hard feelings.

Speaking of hard feelings… there's a multitude of them between Dad and Percy. I haven't written that much about it, but every day there's some sort of conflict between the two of them. It's like they're constantly on the lookout for potential quarrels. For example: yesterday Percy used Errol to send a letter to a colleague in London, and when Dad found out, he asked – rather irritated – why Percy hadn't used Hermes, when he knows perfectly well that Errol should hardly be flying at all, considering his age and, well… issues concerning basic navigation. The whole thing escalated into a rather nasty row, and things didn't exactly get better when Errol arrived back, hours later than he should have, looking a complete fright.

That was yesterday. Today, at breakfast, Dad announced that he was going to London for the day, seeing as there are a couple of people he has to meet (he didn't say which people, but I know it's no use asking). Mum asked him if he could pick up a few sewing supplies for her at Madam Malkin's, but before he could answer, Percy went into insufferable-know-it-all mode and said, "Really, Mum, I can't believe you would buy such things at Madam Malkin's, when it's rather obvious that the people at 'The Eye of the Needle' have come much further in that department." It was really obnoxious of him, especially seeing as he knows perfectly well that, even if she wanted to, Mum couldn't shop at 'The Eye of the Needle' – it's far too expensive. And besides, what does _he _know about sewing? I looked at Ron and we both rolled our eyes at Percy's haughtiness, but considering how it was such a _Percy _thing to say, we didn't make any more of it. Unfortunately, I can't say the same thing about Dad. He started telling Percy off for his comment, and said he shouldn't talk to his mother like that. Another row ensued, and it was rather embarrassing, because _everyone_ was at the table. Our guests tried to look like they didn't even notice, but they weren't very convincing, considering the fact that it sounded as if Dad and Percy's voices were under a Sonorus charm.

Thankfully, Lupin came through and started a discussion on the rather neutral topic of dress robes. It seemed as though everyone had an amusing anecdote about dress robes, so the conversation carried on for quite a while. Ron even managed to tell the story about the Yule Ball – where he'd worn that horrible maroon creation and attempted to cut off the lace cuffs – without so much as a blush. I guess it's true what they say – time really does heal all wounds.

* * *

Einar's taught me some Swedish! Listen to this:

_Hej, jag heter Ginny. _That's "Hi, I'm Ginny".

_Vilket__ underbart väder! _This means "Such wonderful weather!".

And, finally, _Vad tar ni för stinkbomberna? _Which means "How much are the Dungbombs?", a phrase which is highly useful in any given language. I mean, what if I were to go to Sweden and wouldn't even be able to order Dungbombs? That would be a tragedy.

Einar says there's something in Sweden called stink-pellets, which are kind of like Dungbombs, only much smaller, and when you heat them up they set off an odour so strong and repulsive that it can clear a large room full of people in under a minute. He's promised to import a couple of bags for me the next time he goes home to visit.

* * *

Hermione seems sort of restless. She keeps on proposing different activities that she thinks we ought to do. Just now, when we'd finished dinner, she asked Ron and me if we wanted to take a trip into Ottery St Catchpole, and we just sort of glanced awkwardly at each other, 'cause we _never _go into town. Well, not never, but as good as. The last time I was there was when I'd just turned eleven, and Mum wanted to take me out for a mother-daughter ice-cream sundae, seeing as I was soon leaving for Hogwart's and "growing up so fast". That's four years ago. So our disbelief was quite justified. We managed to talk her into watching us play Quidditch with Bill, Charlie, Fred, George and Einar instead, and that's what I'm about to go out and do – I'm just going to get changed.

Hang on a minute.

Oh, _really?_

Hermione just popped her head in here and said that she'd managed to talk Ron into going for a walk with her instead of playing Quidditch, so they were leaving now, and was I sure I didn't want to come? It was rather funny. Her cheeks were all flushed and she could hardly get the words out. I don't think I managed to keep the look of smugness off my face as I said thanks, but no thanks.

Honestly. Those two.

Charlie's yelling for me to come down if I want to join them, so I better get changed.

Bye for now.

* * *

It's strange how things can change so fast.

An hour ago, I was sitting on my broom, tears of laughter pouring down my face as Fred and George performed their "Broomstick Boogie" – a rather perilous dance, seeing as the "dance-floor" is located quite some distance above the ground.

Now I'm lying in my bed, listening to Hermione sniffling a few feet away as Ron tries to comfort her. He's doing a good job, I reckon, 'cause she isn't crying anymore. We're the only ones upstairs – everyone else is in the living room, holding an emergency Order meeting.

I'm not really sure how or where to start, so I'll just dive straight into it.

Just as I landed after having played Quidditch for almost an hour and a half, Ron and Hermione came back from their walk. I was about to make a suggestive comment about how long they'd been gone, but the distressed looks on their faces stopped me. I asked them what was wrong, but Ron just said that we ought to go inside.

Everyone who'd been outside gathered in the kitchen, and Charlie went off to find Mum, Dad and the others. Ron didn't say anything 'til everyone was assembled, but when they were, he told us – rather gravely – that they'd walked on the outskirts of Ottery St Catchpole and heard things that sounded anything but good. "What things?" Dad demanded, and the look on his face was apprehensive, as if something he'd feared would happen might've come to pass.

Ron drew a hand through his hair before telling us about screaming people, explosive noises and sounds of running. While he told us this, Hermione stood silent, her face going whiter by the second. I could tell what she was thinking – I was thinking the same thing. It sounded a little too much like what we'd heard after the Quidditch World Cup Finals two years ago.

When Ron was finished, I looked around at the grown-ups, and their expressions made my heart hammer violently against my ribcage. _They _were thinking the same thing, too.

There was a moment of silence, then somebody – Lupin, I think – began to speak, although I hardly heard what he was saying. I was too busy trying to sort out my thoughts. Could they really be _here?_ Could the—

I can hardly write it.

I mean… _Death Eaters. _Here. It's too horrible to think about.

As we stood there, completely shell-shocked, a formal-looking owl arrived. Kingsley took the letter attached to its leg and quickly read it, then handed it to Dad.

"It's Tonks," he said, and Dad nodded slowly as he too read it. He handed it to Lupin, who skimmed it through, before giving it to Moody. The letter was passed around 'til everyone had read it. Well, everyone except for Ron, Hermione and me of course.

"We have to hold a meeting," Dad said, and everyone nodded. They started filing out to go to the living room, and Ron and I made a move to follow.

"You're staying here," Mum said sternly, and Ron looked positively livid.

"Why?" he demanded. "It was me and Hermione who heard it all in the first place, and now we're not even allowed to hear what it's about?"

"You're staying," Mum repeated, and this time she was backed up by Lupin, who said that it would be better if they talked it through first and then passed the information on to us.

"Can't we at least see the letter?" I asked, desperate to find _something _out.

Moody, who was holding the piece of parchment, gave a wry grin and handed it to me. "See what you can make of it," he said, and then they all left for the living room.

Me, Ron and Hermione went upstairs to my room, and read the letter through. This is what it said:

_"My dearest Weasley family,_

_As a true animal friend, it grieves me to hear of the polecat hunt. I sincerely hope you haven't taken part in it. I trust and hope I will see you soon – __Kingston__ just isn't the same without you._

_Best regards,_

_Pinky__ Pollock_

_P.S__. Mr Tibbles sends his love, and says the parcel is waiting for you all."_

It took us – or Hermione, to be honest – about two minutes to figure out that "the polecat hunt" was a reference to whatever it was that had happened in Ottery St Catchpole (seeing as otters and polecats are both animals and moderately alike, appearance-wise). The rest of the letter, however, gave us nothing. I mean, Kingston, what's that? A place or a person? Or maybe a code for something completely different? And who in Merlin's name is Mr Tibbles, and what is this parcel he's keeping for us?

We gave up trying to decipher the letter, and started talking instead. Or rather, Ron and I talked while Hermione sat silent. It wasn't 'til minutes later that I realised she was crying. Once I saw this, I rushed over to comfort her, and Ron patted her sort of awkwardly on the back.

She didn't really say much, but I can understand how she's feeling. I mean, unless we're completely mistaken –which I doubt we are – there's been an attack of some sort in Ottery St Catchpole; most likely on Muggles. And Hermione's already expressed her current fears about attacks either on herself or on any members of her family. Having one happen so close and – even under the circumstances – so unexpectedly must've been horrible. It's horrible for _me, _and I'm not Muggle-born.

Oh, it's so awful. I can hardly believe it.

Someone's on the stairs. I think it might be…

Yeah. Hold on a minute.

* * *

It was Mum. She came in here and sat with us, while telling us a bit about the meeting. She didn't tell us everything, of course, but little snippets.

Apparently we have to leave. Leave the Burrow. It's not safe for us here. 

I just stared at her in shock when she said this, 'cause I haven't ever considered the possibility that our house could be anything but perfectly safe. I mean, last year, when we went to Grimmauld Place, I figured it was just because the Burrow was impractical when it came to having Order meetings. I never, ever thought that we could be in _danger _here. In our house. Our home. To me, it's always felt like the safest place in the world. Well, along with Hogwart's. 

And now it turns out that it isn't.

I don't know where we're going or how we're getting there, but I do know that we're leaving tomorrow morning at four o'clock (which might just be the earliest I've ever been up), so I have to get some sleep now. Mum said she'd pack our things for us.

When she'd left the room, we just sat in silence for a while. Then Ron asked, rather timidly, if he could sleep in here on the floor. The words _"I don't want to be alone" _hung unspoken in the air. For some reason, a lump formed in my throat at his words and I just nodded, afraid that my voice would fail me if I tried to speak.

I just can't believe this.

Anyway, as I said, I have to get some sleep. It's only seven hours 'til Mum'll be in here to wake us up.

'Night.

~*~

**_A/N: _**_Polecats and otters don't really look alike, do they? I couldn't come up with an animal which looked a lot like an otter, so I went with polecat, since they sort of have the same shape… Anyway, Hermione is really clever, so I felt it made sense that she would figure it out._


	6. 12 July: My Mum is amazing

**_A/N: _**_I'm baaack… I know it takes me forever to update, and I'm sorry. I've been working a lot lately, and… well... No, I don't have any good excuses. So, sorry._

~*~

**12 July**

I am so unbelievably, extraordinarily, ridiculously and – most importantly – _fantastically tired. I would've come up with even more lengthy adverbs to describe my current state of fatigue, but frankly, my mind is too fog-like at the moment. I'll have to save the really big words for later._

It's five-fifteen (yep, in the _morning_), and I'm sitting at the foot of the stairs on my trunk, waiting for everyone else to get ready to leave. The house has been in complete commotion the past hour, as everyone has rushed around, trying to get their things organised. Thankfully, Mum packed my trunk yesterday, so I haven't had that much to do. I've merely been a casual observer of the mess.

Ron and Hermione are sitting here as well. I think Ron's asleep – his head's sort of lolling about – and Hermione's face is looking unusually blank. I tried talking to her a few minutes ago and she just mumbled, "Hm, shwalzizbayomininme", and seeing as I don't have a ruddy clue what she was trying to tell me, I smiled and replied, "Sounds good, Hermione," because that's pretty much a universal reply.

Believe it or not, I think everyone is more or less ready now.

Yeah, Dad just came and ordered us outside. We're off.

I'll write more later.

*   *   *

Okay, I think I might actually understand Mum's obsession with cleaning now. Or at least her statement of having to 'keep your surroundings nice and tidy'. Because right now, I'm in what could quite possibly be the _dirtiest, _filth_iest, most disgusting house I've ever come across, and frankly, the mess is driving me in__sane._

We arrived here a couple of hours ago, around four o'clock, after having flied for an age and a half on broomsticks. I was a bit surprised that we were travelling on brooms; I'd been sure we'd use a Portkey; but apparently we haven't got to the place we're going yet. We'll be staying in this complete dump of a house today, and then tomorrow we're leaving (thank goodness) and travelling by Portkey to our final destination. Don't for a minute think that anyone's actually _told me this, though. No, no, I've had to conclude it myself, after having heard a number of mumbled conversations between various adults. It seems as if we're taking this detour in case we're being followed (which is a rather creepy thought)._

Anyway. About this place. I hardly consider myself to be _neat in any way (just ask Mum), but when I came into this house I just had to take a step back and scrunch up my face in disgust. It's __that messy. Everyone seemed to let out a collective, appalled "Urrghh" at the sight of it._

The wooden walls look like they're about to cave in, and there's actually something _growing _on them, something green and feathery-looking. The floor is cluttered with junk, half of which is completely unidentifiable. There are large patches on the ceiling, as if it's rained for weeks and the water's slowly been seeping through the roof. But it _hasn't rained, which means that the patches are caused by something else, and… I don't even want to think about it._

And the _smell. _Don't even get me started on the smell. The whole place reeks as if it's been used as a final resting place for vegetables and dairy that's gone bad. I have to breathe with my mouth open to avoid being sick right here on the floor.

I asked Dad why we have to live _here, _of all places, and he said, "I realise it's not ideal as accommodation—" doh! "—but we're not in a position where we can be too choosy. The risk of the wrong people finding us in a place like this is much smaller than if we'd checked into some fancy hotel."

I mean, I understand that, I really do, but why can't we just fix the place up a bit? You know, with magic? We should be safe as long as it's filthy-looking on the outside, shouldn't we? But apparently that's definitely ruled out. No explanation was given (of course), but Dad just shook his head and said, "Unfortunately that's not an option, Ginny".

Fine. Like I care. Me, Ron and Hermione have decided to sleep outside tonight anyway. I'm not going to be in this house a minute longer than I have to.

In fact, I'm going to leave right now. Charlie just announced that he's going off to 'scout the premises'. Sounds like fun. More fun than staying here and retching, at least.

*  *  *

My Mum is amazing. She's just served us all a positively superb dinner, although hardly having had anything to make it of. And she didn't even use magic. Considering my previous state of hunger and my current state of utter contentment, I now pronounce myself her biggest fan.

The house is still disgusting, so we ate outside, which was kind of nice. It's a wonderful summer evening, all warm and sultry. The grown-ups have gone back in, but Ron, Hermione and I are still out here on the grass. I am _not _going back in there. No way. I don't understand how they can even _think about sleeping in there. Nuts, that's what they are._

The 'scouting of the premises' was quite fun. Charlie guided the group (which consisted of me, Fred, George and Einar) around, pretending to be a French tour-guide (_"now, zeez eez very eenteresteeng, 'ere eez a trrree with a rrremarkable bark, do you zee?"_). It was hilarious. The funniest thing was when Bill came over and asked us what we were doing. Charlie introduced himself as Mademoiselle Delacour, and said, "Monsieur Weasley, you are zee most 'andsome man I 'ave ever 'ad the pleasure of meeting!" Bill's face turned so bright a shade of red it could've been used as a beacon, and he called Charlie names so foul I can't even print them here.

I just had a little talk with Ron and Hermione about Harry. We all agreed that if someone doesn't start making plans for him to join us real soon, we'll have to do something about it ourselves. I mean, the twins' gadgets have gotten pretty advanced, I'm sure they've got something that could be of use. 'Cause this is getting ridiculous. Harry never asked to be treated like some top secret artefact. He just wants to be like everybody else. He wants to spend the summer with his friends, not with those bloody sadists that happen to be his relatives. And we miss him. _I _miss him. I mean, I'm used to having him around.

Now Ron and Hermione have started whispering about something. Hmph. Those two. That's another reason why it would be nice to have Harry around – he could help me deal with this new, weird… _thing _that's going on between my brother and my best friend. 

Oh well. I think I'll just bother them for a little while before I go to sleep. I really am rather tired.

Goodnight.

~*~

**_A/N: _**_Short, I know. Hope you liked it nonetheless!_


	7. 13 July: Special guest?

**_A/N: _**_Right. Let's see. Where did we leave off? Well, Ginny's scribbling on in her diary, Harry is yet to be heard from, the grown-ups are infuriatingly secretive and there's something fishy going on between Ron and Hermione…_

_Without further ado, I hereby present to you… Chapter Seven. *bows majestically*_

~*~

**13 July**

Oh, thank goodness. We're out of the disgusting house. And I, for one, am never looking (or rather, smelling) back. It was pretty funny, 'cause today nobody had any problem getting ready to leave in time. Considering how our family generally runs about an hour and a half behind schedule, this really says something about the state of disgustingness (I know that's not a word, but I'm terrible with synonyms, so you'll have to make do with it) that the house was in.

Anyway, right now we're in a park of some sort, taking a rest. We've been walking for a couple of hours, and the sun is still riding pretty low in the sky.

It's really beautiful in here; there are hundreds of wildflowers growing on the slopes and a little stream running through the whole park. It feels like we've stepped straight into the pages of a storybook. Dad said we'll be reaching the Portkey soon, but I hope it's not too soon, 'cause I rather like it in here. It's so... peaceful. And you don't get a lot of that nowadays.

Well, well. So much for my moments of inner peace. Dad just got up and announced that we have to start moving again. He sounds dead authoritative. I think he sees himself as some kind of military leader. "Time for the troops to kick back into action."

Bye for now.

*   *   *

Hahaha!!!

I just have to write a quick not about the Portkey, because it's just too, too funny. You'll never guess what it is. That's right. _Never. _All your guesses will be wrong.

That is, unless your guess is... _an item of hot pink men's underwear!!!_

Oh dear lord. I'm laughing so hard my stomach is cramping up. Mum's looking dead annoyed, Lupin is looking like he's trying hard not to laugh and Charlie is looking immensely pleased with himself. It's not too difficult to figure out who's behind this. Honestly. Some people never grow up.

And thank heavens for that. I needed a good laugh.

*  *  *

Okay. We're here. And... Well... I'm surprised. I must say I'm really, really surprised. I hadn't expected it. And yet... I had. To a certain extent.

Oh, I don't even know where to start, so I'll just start at the beginning and be done with it.

We arrived here a couple of hours ago. "Where's 'here'?" you might wonder. Well, I'm not really sure where I am, strictly geographically. But wherever it is, it's really beautiful. It's got the same fairytale feel to it that the park had. The garden is absolutely gorgeous; blazing with colour and full of berry-bushes and cherry-trees; and the house is all light and airy – it feels just like one of those beach houses you can see in pictures from the 20's. Although I don't think there's a beach nearby, but I'm not really sure. We haven't been allowed to leave the house and its surroundings yet.

Anyway, when we'd arrived, and after we'd "oooh"-ed and "aaah"-ed for a bit over the beauty of the garden (I swear, Hermione was practically swooning), we were ushered inside by Dad and Lupin, and guess who was waiting for us there?

Tonks!

I was so incredibly happy to see her; I just ran up and threw my arms around her, hugging her for a long time. And I think she was happy to see me too. She said something along the lines of, "A fellow female!" and for some reason that made me giggle hysterically.

We all just stood around for a while, while Tonks said hello to everyone. It was pretty funny, 'cause when she got to Einar, she blushed crimson and started stuttering a lot. I swear, I've never seen her like that before. It's rather comforting to know that even someone as self-confident as Tonks can get tongue-tied.

When she'd greeted everyone, Tonks started telling us about her time in the house. It was evident that she'd had quite a lot of contact with the other members of the Order, so for me, Ron and Hermione – who know virtually nothing about what's going on – it was pretty difficult to keep up. But from what I could gather, she's been in the house a couple of weeks, but only stayed every other night (I have no idea what she's been doing on the nights she hasn't been here), and on the night of the attack in Ottery St Catchpole, she'd been in London, meeting with – get this – _Snape and Dumbledore. _But before I had a chance to ask what the meeting was about, Mum realised that this information was inappropriate for us "youngsters" (yes, she actually called us that; I wanted to throw something at her) to hear, and demanded that the information meeting should be held in another room. 

So the grown-ups all started to leave, but just as he was about to exit the room, Dad said, "So, Tonks, how's our special guest?"

I could almost _hear _Ron and Hermione prick up their ears along with me. Special guest? There was a special guest?

Tonks gave a furtive smile. "Oh, he's just fine. Asleep at the moment, though."

I looked from Dad to Tonks, hardly daring to breathe. It couldn't be… could it?

Dad glanced at me, his eyes almost glittering. "I'm sure the children would like to meet him once he wakes up. They must have some catching up to do."

And then he left the room along with Tonks. I barely had time to feel offended by the fact that Dad had referred to us as children, before I turned to Ron and Hermione, my mouth wide open. They looked as shocked as I felt.

"It's _Harry!_" Ron hissed. "He's here!"

"We can't be sure of it, Ron," Hermione said, looking as if she herself was very sure, but – like me – hardly dared believe it.

"Oh, come on," Ron said. "Who else would it be?"

Hermione shrugged, and for a minute or two the three of us stood there stupidly, just staring at each other. I was just about to suggest we get ourselves a bite to eat (since I, for one, was starving) when Ron suddenly got a very determined look on his face.

"Well, there's only one way to find out, isn't there?"

And with those words he charged out of the room and started ascending the stairs, with me and Hermione following closely behind. On the second floor we were met by a long row of doors and for a moment we hesitated, not sure where to start, but Hermione (ever logical) pointed out that only two of the doors were actually shut, and a person who was asleep during the day would most likely be situated behind a closed door, so we walked up to the first one. But we found that it was locked. For once, Ron was quicker than Hermione. He whipped out his wand and then performed an unlocking charm on the door.

He slowly pushed it open, and it squeaked horribly, causing us all to grimace. Behind the door was nothing of interest. In fact, it was almost empty, apart from a big, blue box that stood all alone in the middle of the room. We quickly left the room (and clever as she is, Hermione remembered to lock it again).

As we walked up to the second closed door, Ron held his wand "Alohomora"-ready, but as he reached for the handle to check whether or not it was locked, it swung open, causing Hermione to scream.

Well, alright. Me too.

But I quickly gathered myself, 'cause the sight of a ruffled-haired Harry wearing nothing but boxer shorts and a washed-out t-shirt forced me to focus my full concentration on hindering one of those annoying, tell-tale blushes from creeping up my cheeks.

"I knew it!" Ron exclaimed and put away his wand before giving Harry one of those male-friends-greeting-each-other-in-a-manly-fashion types of slaps on the arm. "Good to see you, mate!"

"Yes, it really is wonderful!" Hermione chimed in. "We thought it must be you, when Arthur said…"

"Well, _I_ did anyway," Ron interrupted her. "Hermione wasn't really _sure_."

Hermione simply scowled at him, before turning back to Harry. "It really is good to see you, Harry."

Until now, Harry hadn't said a thing. He'd merely stood there, looking very much like someone who was in between "awake" and "lost in the land of dreams". But now realization seemed to dawn on him, and he said, "So you're finally here." (At least I think that's what he said. You can't expect me to remember every word of every sentence of every conversation, now can you?)

Then there were hugs all around. Well, not all around, really. Hermione hugged him, and Ron sort of patted him on the back, and I… Well, I…

Argh, it's embarrassing.

I said something like, "Hello, Harry", or "Hi, Harry", or "Good to see you, Harry" (again – my memory is limited), and then I sort of leaned over, about to hug him, and he sort of opened his arms, preparing to hug me, and then at the last minute, I stopped and drew back, and the hug turned into him sort of patting me on the arm, and my face burned and the silence was deafening and I could feel Hermione staring at us and I don't think I've ever loved my brother as much as I did when he said, "So, do you feel like lunch? 'Cause I'm famished," as if I hadn't just made a complete arse of myself in front of them all.

Well, what can I say?

I panicked. I didn't feel like hugging Harry. Not there. Not like that. Not in front of Ron and Hermione. Not with him in little but his underwear. It would've been too awkward.

Good-awkward, but still.

Whatever. I'm not going to tangle myself up in my own words by writing any further about this incident.

Once we'd established that everyone was happy to see everyone else, Harry retreated to his room to get dressed (for which I was very grateful – I didn't know _where _to look), then we all went downstairs to have some lunch. The grown-ups weren't done with their meeting yet, so we sat at the table, just catching up.

Harry didn't have a lot to tell us. He'd arrived at the house a few weeks ago, and since then he'd simply stayed put. Apparently he'd been bored out of his mind most of the time. He wasn't allowed to go any further than the fence surrounding the garden, and trips like that were only allowed before nine a.m. or after seven p.m. (I have no idea why... But grown-ups love irrational rules like that). On the nights when Tonks was in the house, they would play cards or magical board games, but there was still enough time when he was all alone to make his stay in the house – so far – close to unbearable.

So he seemed really pleased that we were there. He said that Tonks had mentioned it a number of times, but never specified when we would be arriving.

We had a quick lunch, and then the grown-ups were done with their meeting. Mum was thrilled to see that Harry was safe and sound, and hugged him 'til he was blue in the face. Everyone else was happy to see him, too, and he seemed happy to see them. He immediately started a Quidditch conversation with Charlie; one which Ron soon joined in on.

There was one strange thing about this little reunion, though. When Harry was introduced to Einar, his face went all grim. Einar shook his hand and sounded really pleasant and all, but Harry just stared at him, looking dead weird. I don't know what it was. Maybe he's just learned to be suspicious of strangers. I know I would be in his situation.

Mum gave us a bunch of restrictions. Like Harry, we're not allowed past the fence. And we have the same curfew that he has – 7 p.m. ('cause everything wrong and wicked in this world takes place after 7 p.m. – doh!)

Anyway, when all the greetings and lectures were done, the four of us (that being me, Hermione, Ron and Harry) sat down to talk some more, and it was really nice, 'til Ron whipped out his portable Quidditch game that Fred and George gave him a couple of weeks ago. Harry fell instantly in love with it, and they immediately started playing. Hermione looked at me and rolled her eyes, and without a word we rose from our seats and left the room.

Tonks showed us the room that Hermione and I will be sharing. It's, well... cute. Very cute. Too bloody cute for its own good, in fact. I mean, I don't mind flowered wallpaper – it can be quite pretty – just as long as it's _not_ matched with pink curtains _and _a mat with an embroidered meadow on it. Not to mention the bedspreads that depict some heart-warming story about a bunny and a kitten that are apparently best friends.

Well, sickeningly sweet or not, it's where I'll be sleeping for the nearest future, so I'll just have to deal with it.

Ow. Ow-ow-bloody-ow. I've been sitting here writing for a good hour or so, and my arm feels like it wants to curl up and die or something. I should probably stop now; go see what the others are up to (Hermione left quite a while ago).

I'll check back later.

*   *   *

So... tired... 

Must... sleep...

Will... write... tomorrow...

Zzzzzzzzz.

~*~

**_A/N: _**_Well, there it was, chapter seven, and the plot thickens… or not. I won't have access to a computer in the next week or so, so chapter eight may take a while. Which is no big difference from the other chapters, really :) Thanks again to those who take time to read and review. I really appreciate it and it helps me a lot with my writing._


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